


Trust

by KeyPea



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca’s aggressive personality is an unfortunate side-effect of his past, using his anger as a survival mechanism; Marcus knows he wasn’t always this way and is curious about the Briton’s experiences of Romans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings- Rape/non-con.
> 
> Many thanks are in order for the article linked below, which helped greatly with research around the idea of Romans using their slaves for sexual purposes. The idea popped into my head of its own accord and I perhaps would have proceeded even if I hadn't read the article, but it brings up some very interesting points and lends historical accuracy to my interpretation of Esca's past in this fic.
> 
> http://www.heritagedaily.com/2012/05/roman-same-sex-slaves-and-lex-scantinia/

The first day Esca was a slave to Marcus, the Roman entered his room at night to find the young Briton naked in his bed with a deep scowl on his face. He gave Marcus a look that could have cut a hole through stone- Marcus had physically staggered from the blow of it. He would have fallen had he not still been walking with a stick, but he recovered and howled, more in surprise than anger,

“What by the Gods do you think you’re doing?”

“I am your body slave,” Esca had folded his arms across his chest, stubbornly, protectively. “I am yours to do with as you wish.”

“This is not what I want,” Marcus had replied, his voice hard. He felt betrayed that the young Briton thought this of him. He waved his stick. “Out.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Esca’s features, almost too quickly to catch, but Marcus saw it in his eyes. Esca had been familiar with other Romans, ones who hadn’t been as kind to him as Marcus intended. Then it was like a curtain had come down inside, and his face was as stony and unreadable as before. He flounced from the bed in a fine rage, and Marcus noticed that had he intended on using his slave in the manner Esca believed he would, that Esca would not have been a willing participant.

Marcus did not sleep that night or hardly at all for the next week. Every time he felt himself slipping he’d only have to roll over to see Esca’s mattress across his door, and the skinny Briton lying on it with his back always to Marcus. He could feel the waves of fury and hate roll off him even at this distance, and Marcus himself couldn’t help but wonder what had happened before, and be angry on his slave’s behalf at the way he’d been treated.

OOO

It was a long time before Esca held any semblance of what could be called trust of Marcus. He no longer appeared naked in his bed at night, as he’d often done in the first few weeks, as if he expected Marcus to change his mind. Marcus never did, always sending him away, though more kindly than he had that first time, when he’d been surprised. Esca never showed any desire to discuss it and so Marcus didn’t push; it was not his place to pry into the affairs of slaves.

Hunting together had helped the healing process of their relationship, and there were often times when Marcus forgot that Esca was his slave at all, though the Briton could never quite let this leave his conscious mind. When the hunting was good they acted almost as friends, but when Uncle Aquila’s villa once again came into view they reverted back to their previous roles.

Esca no longer thought he could be surprised by anything a Roman did, but Marcus managed to surprise him, the day he begged Uncle Aquila to let him take Esca beyond the wall. Aquila had warned Marcus of all the things that could have been in Esca’s head to do to be free of his master, but the Roman had not cared.

“If I’m wrong, then I’ll die, and that’s the way it should be.” He had said simply.

Yes, Esca had been very surprised at that, hearing that the Roman trusted him, and it had put a grudging respect in Esca’s heart for Marcus. He might hate Rome and everything it stood for, but this Roman had already shown he was different from the others Esca had been familiar with. It was enough that Esca would not slit his throat the moment they were alone, but he’d certainly be keeping his dagger close lest Marcus turn into a less honourable man beyond the wall.  

OOO

The wild territories were different. Different to the villages and villas of the Romans, and different even to the forests the pair were used to hunting in. Up here, the lands were wild and dangerous, and the rules were different. Eventually even Esca had to admit that there was no master and slave this far north, simply two men travelling almost as equals, and if anything Esca had the upper hand, as the Briton.

Esca did feel the familiar creeping of dread, however, and something else as well, perhaps _disappointment_ , the night Marcus had said, “come here,” when they were preparing for sleep. At that moment, it was in his heart that Marcus really wasn’t any different to the rest of the Romans, and he had spat on the ground to rid a vile taste from his mouth even as his thoughts flew to the dagger hidden in his shirt. It had tasted like betrayal.

Marcus’ intentions were far more innocent, and Esca was thrown for a minute as he saw the Roman adding layers instead of undressing himself, and throwing a few more logs onto the fire. As much as every fibre of his body thrummed with anger, his dread so strong it could be seen in the small hairs standing up on his arms, Esca could not disobey an order. It was an instinct that had been drummed into him long before he’d become a slave familiar with Rome, something he’d learned from his father and brother whose blue war shields he had borne.

Resigning himself, Esca lay down by the fire with his arms crossed, wearing his familiar scowl. He would grit his teeth and bear what he had to, but he would show he was an unwilling participant. Which is why his surprise grew exponentially, and his close-knitted eyebrows softened and raised into his hairline, when Marcus lay down next to him and threw a blanket over them both, tucking in the ends around Esca’s body and feet to ward off the chill.

“We do not want to freeze,” Marcus murmured. He seemed concerned about the hairs standing up on Esca’s skin and rubbed his arms in a comforting, almost brotherly way. Tucked in, he closed his eyes and it seemed, was almost immediately asleep, quite comfortable sharing his heat with Esca. The Briton did not fall asleep quite so quickly, his anxiety keeping him on edge until he was reassured that Marcus really did mean for them to sleep, and forced himself to relax. Bemused, he stared at the snoring Marcus and felt a creep of shame that he’d leapt to awful conclusions. Overwhelmed with gratitude and a new-found respect for Marcus, he snuggled up closer and found himself tucking in the ends of the blanket around his master so he did not catch a chill either.

Esca seemed happier the next morning and for many more mornings after that, and Marcus was glad. At last, it seemed his slave had started to trust him properly, and in the cold nights Esca lay next to him without being asked. Once or twice Marcus awoke to find Esca’s arms around him and the young Briton’s face buried in his chest, as if he’d had a nightmare of some sort and clung to the nearest comforting presence. Esca sometimes seemed embarrassed about this, until Marcus reassured him that he had no need to be.

OOO

One night it seemed Esca was in a trusting mood, as he became far more talkative. They lay, as they often did, next to the fire wrapped in the same blanket, and Marcus’ arms were around the skinny Briton to ward off the chill he’d felt rattle his bones. Esca balled up his fists into Marcus’ chest, and in a strangled voice, told him, “you’re the only Roman I trust.”

Marcus murmured an encouraging noise of assent but did not say anything. He felt sure he was about to find out from Esca’s mouth what had happened to him before the arena, before Marcus, and he didn’t want to ruin it with his own thoughts.

“I’ve been used.” Esca growled through gritted teeth, his anger evident in every tremble of his body. “Treated little better than a dog by your Roman brothers.” Marcus heard him practicing slow breathing in and out, and even though he had his arms around the Briton, he could swear Esca’s balled fists were pushing him away.

“And when you met me?” Marcus asked, keeping his own voice casual and even, neglecting to mention or even imply ownership.

“I am the centurion’s hound, to lie at the centurion’s feet,” Esca replied, by way of explanation, and Marcus thought he understood, though of course he could never truly understand what it was to be used in the was Esca had been used.

“Is that why you were in my bed?” Marcus was still keeping his voice level.

“If you had wanted me, I could not have said no.” Esca told him angrily. “You would not have been the first Roman to do this.” He did push Marcus away this time, breaking through his arms easily and rolling onto his other side, back to Marcus.

“I am an honourable man,” Marcus replied, his voice starting to shake with what, anger at Esca’s treatment, annoyance that he’d assumed all Romans were the same or simply sympathy for his plight, he did not know. “I would never. I could never...” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Force me?” Esca supplied. “Take me, like all you Romans take and take, and never give back?”

“Have I ever forced you, Esca?”

“No, but...”

“No. I haven’t. You must know enough of me by now to know I could never do that to you. You are my friend.”

They were silent for a long time, Esca good and mad at Rome, present company excluded, and Marcus hurt and upset. He had suspected, of course he had, perhaps even from the very first time he’d found the slave in his bed, but hearing the words spew forth from his friend’s mouth made it very much more real.

Marcus was tired, and he suspected Esca was too. He decided to risk an arm over Esca’s side, knowing full well that his friend was angry enough to be able to disregard their statuses to throw it off if he so chose. Esca felt the creep of his hand and considered precisely such a thing, but the warm arm was comforting, saying everything that the words stuck in Marcus’ throat couldn’t, so Esca allowed himself to be pulled back against Marcus’ strong body, a barrier against the cold, and despite himself he began to relax. The hand absent-mindedly wandered across his chest, a gentle and reassuring stroke that was absolutely tender and not at all the hand of a master on his slave that made Esca’s eyelids heavy.

“I promise as long as I live, no-one will hurt you again,” Marcus mumbled as they drifted off, and for a minute Esca was able to forget he was a slave, forget he had been used and just live in the now, amongst the warm, loving embrace of the only person in the world Esca trusted. 


	2. Chapter 2

North of the wall, where things were different, Marcus and Esca went through many more tests of trust before they considered themselves friends; not least the role-reversal they undertook whilst in the tribe of the seal people. They’d had their first real fight only moments before they’d been discovered, a furious back-and-forth of words about honour they would both come to regret, and for the first time, physical violence as well. It was for the best that they’d been interrupted, otherwise their precarious friendship might have been damaged beyond repair, although what was to come would test it to the limits.

Of all the things that Marcus had thought he would be doing north of the wall, playing the part of Esca’s slave hadn’t been one of them. He was treated much more badly than he’d ever treated Esca, though it crossed his mind once or twice as he was being dragged behind his own horse, hands bound, that Esca had experienced precisely the same such things at the hands of Rome. Once he’d gotten onto this wagon of thought, there was nothing to stop Marcus following it down a dark road.

As he crouched in the cold rain, each drop feeling like an icicle on his skin, Marcus threw filthy looks through the trees at where Esca was sitting with the tribe, next to a warm fire and food to fill his belly. The Briton had been wearing a mask of smug satisfaction for days, and it irked him badly. He supposed that he had been using Esca to warm his bed in a way- just not the way Rome had expected him to. He couldn’t deny that the sharing of heat in cold nights had made something soften in him, and now he could barely remember what human contact felt like.

Over the next weeks Marcus grew indifferent to anything Esca might have been thinking or feeling, resigning himself to hard work and turning a shoulder against the cold. Only once did Marcus feel something pull in his chest, and this is when he saw Esca with a child- a little boy of the tribe who had taken to following him about. Marcus ignored the feeling though, and tried to also ignore the thoughts in his head that told him Esca would have been a good father. Often Esca had glanced quickly over at Marcus in whatever task he was engaged in whenever the child had pulled at his tunic or babbled British words to him, to see his reaction, but always the Roman was hunched over, steadfastly ignorant to his surroundings.

Over the course of the whole tribal experience, Marcus and Esca both learned a great deal about themselves and each other. Esca had seen Marcus every time the tribe had walked past him and scanned his face carefully. In the first days, he’d trembled every time he heard footsteps, and Esca could have sworn he’d gritted his teeth every time he’d been told to do something, reminding Esca so very much of himself.

There had been only one incident, when Marcus had been caught staring curiously at the tribal women, and Esca had been forced to punish him to appease the leader. Marcus had made all the right angry noises, but as Esca had him by the hair, on his knees in the mud, he’d caught the open fear in his eyes. Later, when he let Marcus go, throwing him prone onto the sand, partly to make it convincing and partly because he was having a rare opportunity to pay back Rome, he’d caught what Marcus had said. The tribal leaders must have assumed that he was just muttering to himself in his tongue, but Esca understood every word, and the connotations behind it.

“If you have to punish me properly, I want it to be you,” Marcus had murmured. “I can only take it from you. It has to be you.” Esca froze but he did not turn around, knowing if he did and saw the look on Marcus’ face, he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretence. Blood and adrenaline still coursing through him from the punishment and his rare opportunity of power, Esca couldn’t quite forget past sins, despite the fact that this Roman, _his_ Roman, was literally grovelling on his knees. Instead, he raised his head to the sky and walked away, lest he say something he’d regret, hearing a sob behind him carried away on the wind.

OOO

It was telling, the night Marcus had been knocked unconscious trying to retrieve the Eagle, that upon waking to Esca, who could quite easily have been there to kill him, had the look on his face not given away his true intentions, that Marcus’ first words were “I thought I’d lost you.”

There was no time for talking as they made their escape, and it was only when they’d reached the river that they had any opportunity to weigh each other up at all. Fleeting glances over the past few weeks had served as the only indication as to what was in each other’s heads, though it was a mark of just how different things were beyond the wall that a Roman should want to know what was in his slave’s head at all. The truth was, Marcus hadn’t thought of Esca as his slave for quite some time, and he’d said as much, amidst a garbled apology that was so loud and desperate Esca had eventually put a hand over his mouth to silence him.

“You should have trusted me, Marcus,” Esca had said angrily as he held his head out of the raging river waters.

“I’m trusting you now, aren’t I? Do you trust _me_ , Esca?”

“Of course I do. You’ve proved you aren’t like the others.”

“That’s good to hear.” Marcus had closed his eyes in exhaustion, confirming finally that every foul look Esca might have thrown his way had been directed at Rome and not him. He hoped he’d gone some way to repairing the damage the empire had done to Esca, but as the Briton had told him before, Marcus was the only Roman he trusted, and perhaps ever would trust.

Soon enough, the Seal Tribe had doubled back, allowing Esca to half-carry Marcus down the river, until the Roman had stumbled one too many times for them to admit that they’d make it out of there together.

“I should have done this months ago,” Marcus had said sadly as he’d passed over the dagger- Esca’s bond. Marcus knew that his words meant he might not roll over at night to see Esca’s mattress across the door with the skinny Briton lying on it again, see his friend riding next to him when hunting or have him tucked under his arm in cold nights spent camping, but Esca’s freedom meant more to him than any of that.

“I will return,” Esca had replied, teeth gritted in determination.

Now all Marcus could do was to trust him. 


End file.
